When you drop a peach on the floor, it bruises.
Bruised fruit is sad and lonely, destined to languish on the shelf until it rots.
I came up with this metaphor while trying to figure out a way to explain the ways my heart stays soft even after being broken.
My heart doesn’t heal like a muscle or like a keloid. I don’t come back stronger. I wish I could harden my heart against slings and arrows but instead I heal like a soft piece of fruit.
That is to say, what I felt for you could have powered a city. I blew a fuse or two, but I’m still burning.
That is to say, you were the candle and I was the moth that was stupid enough to get burned.
That is to say, it’s not your fault but I left a piece of my heart with you like I stuck my tongue to a frozen pole — reckless and dangerous — or like I tried to peel the peach away from the pit —
inevitable.
MOLLY MCGOWAN is a Boston-based archivist who spends a lot of time thinking about Adrienne Rich, searching for the perfect vegetarian buffalo wings, curating an ever growing collection of thrifted menswear, and dreaming up elaborate crafts to foist upon her loved ones.
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